The Rape of Maisy

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Maisy was the prettiest gal on Master George's plantation until Tom Collier took a liking to her.

Submitted: February 25, 2019

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Submitted: February 25, 2019



The Rape of Maisy

D. L. Strickland


Maisy was the prettiest gal on Master George's plantation until Tom Collier took a liking to her.



The Rape of Maisy


Deep South, 1855.


Lying half-clad on the cold hard ground Maisy wanted to disappear. She wished she could melt into the satiny blackness of the night sky, but if she moved would he notice? She didn’t know. What remained of her pretty white cotton dress was now covered with blood, dirt, and semen. Her entire body ached. With her face swollen and bruised, Maisy could no longer be called the prettiest gal on ole Master George’s plantation. Tom Collier had been cruel as he took what he felt was his by right.




Tom, a tall blond man with cold blue eyes and the temperament of a rattlesnake took a liking to the pretty seventeen-year-old slave girl. His eyes followed her every move. He dreamt of touching her smooth chocolate skin and found himself desperately longing to stroke her coarse nappy braids. Never had he burned like this before. No white woman had ever ignited this kind of passion in him. Maisy would be his.


“I sure do like that gal of yours, George.”

“Who you talking about, Tom?”

“Maisy, of course. If you want to part with her I’ll pay whatever you say.”

“Well, that one’s still a virgin. Her mammy is one of my best niggers, that’s the only reason I keep the girl in the big house.”

“Yes, yes I understand, you’re trying to keep the nigger happy. But let me speak frankly George. I want that gal and I’ll pay plenty to own her. Will five hundred make you change your mind?”

“Five hundred? Aw come on Tom, I can get plenty of nigglets out of her. Make it one thousand and she’s yours.”

“A thousand it is. I’ll drop by tomorrow ‘bout noon to collect her.”

Have you ever heard a death wail? it’s a sound you’ll never forget. At the news that Master George had sold her Maisy Mammy Jo screamed as if her soul was being ripped from her body. All night long she begged and pleaded, to no avail.





Promptly at noon, a smiling Tom Collier strutted up the stairs, money in hand ready to take his prize. Mammy Jo struggled against the ropes Master George used to hold her as Maisy and her new master headed for the Collier Plantation.

Thirty miles out Maisy stopped weeping and resigned herself to life away from her momma. She had never been this far away from home before. She sat awestruck by the beauty of the countryside with its lush carpets of green grass and trees so tall she could barely see their tops.

The Collier plantation, a big white house with large pillars on either side of the front door was huge. She thought no place could ever be as beautiful as Master George’s plantation, but she was wrong. Master Collier’s place left her breathless.

“Come on gal,” Tom smiled extending his hand. “This is your new home.”


Black faces peered out at her from everywhere, they watched curiously as their Master doted over the pretty girl.


The Rape of Maisy


“Thomas,” he shouted.

An old black man with stooped shoulders and thinning white hair scuttled through the front door greeting them with a toothless grin.

“Thomas this is Maisy. She’s going to be staying in Betty’s old room.”


“Maisy, I brought you a few things. I hope you’ll find everything here satisfactory.”


A question formed in her mind. Why was he being so kind to her?

“This be your room,” Thomas mumbled sadly.

“Thank you Mister Thomas.”

The room was perfect. White walls with two large windows sporting a grand view of the plantation. Vaulted ceiling, a large brass bed covered with a pink, blue and white homemade bedspread. The shiny wooden floors were accented with handmade throw rugs and fresh cut flowers sat on the cherry oak nightstand next to the bed. Opening the large closet revealed an assortment of beautiful gowns.

“The Master will expect you for dinner. I’ll have Fanny draw you a bath and help you get ready. Now you listen gal don’t do nuthin’ to get him riled,” Thomas warned.


The Rape of Maisy


Maisy felt guilty browsing through the dresses, it didn’t seem right. How could a white man be so interested in her?

“You in there Missy?” A female voice called.


“Well, can I come in?”


“They calls me Fanny. Whew, I can see why the Master’s all smiles. Yous a pretty little thang,” she laughed hold Maisy’s face in her hands. “I supposed yous a virgin?”

“I ain’t never been with a man if that what you askin’,” Maisy whispered.

“Gal that’s bout to change. Come on and let’s get you cleaned up.”



The Rape of Maisy


Belle cried incessantly. She’d been Master Tom’s main gal since the age of fourteen. How could he throw her aside for that skinny little gal? Anyway hadn’t she given him a son, Tom-tom? But, cast away is what she was. There would be no more special treatment. Belle would be sent back to the slave quarters, while Tom-tom stayed in the servants quarters of the big house. Master didn’t even have the decency to tell her himself.


“I won’t go!” Belle screamed.

“Now gal you knows what Master’s gonna do if he catch you here,” Thomas warned.

“I’d rather be dead than go back. You tell him, I’d rather die!”

“No you don’t Belle. Yous just mad cause he done throw’d you over for that new gal. You just wait her time’ll come too.”

“What Is gonna do Thomas? He done took my baby, Lard only knows if Is gonna get to hold him again.”

“Gal you forgot who you is. We is slaves, you best remember that.”

Reluctant, Belle gathered everything Master Tom allowed her to keep and headed back to where he brought her from, hell.



The Rape of Maisy


Fanny dressed Maisy in a white gown with blue lace and delicate flowers. She unbraided her long hair and pulled it up into a bun. Next,  she sprayed a fine mist all over Maisy. “This here will make you smell good. Came from Paris,” Fanny explained.

“Why is he doing this?” Maisy asked innocently.

“Cause he can, sweetness. We be toys, white men play with us until they gets tired, then they's off to find new toys. understand?”

“Yes’um,” she lied.

“Good, then you won’t get hurt,” Fanny sighed giving Maisy a motherly patting on the shoulder. “Its time, now listen child don’t do nothin’ to rile him.”

“Whatcha mean?”

“Jus’ do what he say’s.”



 The Rape of Maisy


Tom sat expectantly. Two plates were set, the dainty floral centerpiece was illuminated by the golden glow of candlelight.

When Maisy entered the room his hungry blue eyes traveled over her body.

“Please, be seated,” he said nodding toward the vacant chair across from him.

“Thank you Master Tom,” Maisy whispered.

“Don’t call me Master, just Tom.”

“Yes’um, Tom.”

“Maisy you look magnificent. Tonight will be grand.”

There was something in the way he stared into her eyes. It wasn’t a look of tenderness, although he spoke softly. It was something else.

Maisy felt sorry for him. Maybe he wasn’t a bad man, just a sad man.

“Let’s eat,” he smiled.

“Dear Lard, bless this food-” Maisy prayed.

“What in blazes are you doin’?”

“I’s praying.”

“What for I’ve already blessed you, now eat.”

Prayer was apart of who she was. Her momma taught her about Jesus and she believed. Nibbling at her food she prayed silently.

Don’t do nuthin’ to rile him, the thought echoed in her mind.


Supper ended and they retired to the drawing room. A massive fireplace ran the length of the back wall. Beautiful black and white photographs graced the walls. It was elegant and overwhelming. Tom poured two glasses of Brandy from a crystal decanter.

“Here, sip it slowly,” he purred.

“Mmmm, it's warm,” she giggled.

He laughed, not the phony one he gave to be polite at dinner parties, this was an honest to goodness laugh. He was surprised by the sheer beauty of the moment. After a few more sips, Maisy felt lightheaded. The smooth liquor gave her a restful cozy feeling.

“I can see you’re tired I’ll walk you to your bedroom.”

“Oh no sah I can find it myself.”

“Nonsense, gal. I don’t think you could make it up the stairs, let alone find your room, now come on.”

Of course he was right. As soon as she stood up the room began spinning.

“Steady Maisy, Brandy carries a kick if one’s not accustomed to it,” he said grabbing her arm.

The bed sheets had already been turned down. Fanny sat in a corner of the room, fast asleep.

“Fanny,” he barked. “Undress her and put her to bed.”


“Goodnight, Miss Maisy.”

“Goodnight Tom,” she managed.





The Rape of Maisy


Two weeks past. Maisy almost forgot that she was a slave. Tom lavished her with not only beautiful gifts but also words of affection.

“Don’t forget yo’self, gal,” Fanny warned as she combed Maisy’s hair.

“I won’t.”

“I sure hope so. Master Tom is a strange one. He likes our women and hates likin’ at the same time. Belle was his gal before you come and-”

The sound of heavy familiar footsteps walking to down the hall stopped Fanny’s tongue from wagging.

“What happened to Belle?” Maisy asked.

“Hush! You trying to get me whipped?”


“Yes Tom?”

“Tonight is going to be real special, now hurry up.”

“I’s almost ready.”

A stray tear fell on Fanny’s big black cheek as she stared helplessly at Maisy’s reflection in the mirror.

“Me and Thomas was talking, he says Belle’s gonna run off,” Fanny whispered.

The look on Maisy’s face spoke of horror. “But, they’ll kill her,” she choked out.

“Yeah, but that ain’t nothin’, like livin’ without her boy Tom-tom.”

“Is the baby Tom’s?”


“Maybe if I talk to him…”

“Oh no you don’t gal,” Fanny hissed grabbing Maisy hard by the shoulders. “If Master finds out he’ll kill her for sho. You keep yo mouth shut! Maybe Belle can get away, but if Master knows she ain’t got no chance.”

“I won’t tell Fanny, I swear.”

“I believes you. Now listen gal, whatever happens with the Master tonight, you jus remember he cain’t touch yo soul.”



The Rape of Maisy


Throughout dinner Maisy wondered what Fanny meant, ‘he cain’t touch yo soul.’ Tom was exceptionally charming, he gave her a beautiful bracelet and a large bouquet of flowers and Maisy felt special.

‘This must be how white women feels,’ she told herself.

Tom’s eyes never left her. He relished her every move. He had his mother’s best crystal wine glasses brought out. Maisy sipped carefully afraid she might drop the beautiful long stem glass.

“My, you are beautiful. It brings me so much pleasure just watching you.”

“Thank you Tom.”

“Let’s go for a stroll before turning in.”

A cool breeze moved through the trees. Maisy looked up at the stars, wondering if these were the same ones she so often enjoyed gazing at on Master George’s place.

“What are you thinking about, gal?”

“Nuthin’,” she lied.

Tom told her never to mention Master George, Mammy Jo or anything else having to do with her past.

“Maisy, I was wondering do you feel free?”

“I don’t know whatcha mean.”

Tom snatched her arm and spun her around to face him.

“Do- you-feel- free?” he growled.

“I don’t rightly know what free feels like,” she moaned.

“You know how it feels to be a slave, right?”


“Do you feel that way right now?” His eyes boring into hers.

“No, I don’t feel that way,” she whispered.

A devilish grin crept across his face. Sliding his arm around Maisy’s slender waist he pulled her flush against him.

“Well, well, well,” he chuckled. “Ain’t this something, I got myself a free nigga.”

Maisy was stunned, he’d never called her a nigga before.

“Please Tom,” she sobbed.

“Oh, I’m gonna please Tom.” He groaned loudly grabbing her buttocks.

“No, don’t -”

Before she could finish, a cold white hand slapped her hard across the face.

“Don’t ever tell me no,” he spat.

Tom threw her violently to the ground. Straddling her he began tearing at her clothes. He enjoyed listening to her pleas, it moved him. Looking at her bare black breast he smiled. Maisy screamed in pain, as he bit down her nipples. Fanny’s warning became as clear as the crystal she’d drank from earlier. His hands no longer cold traveled over her body. She felt sick to the stomach as he forced his long wet tongue down her throat.

“Call me master,” he demanded.

Maisy couldn’t speak. Taking her silence as defiance, he slammed his fist into her nose. Blood ran down the sides of her face.

“I said call me master,” he demanded again. His hands continued their lustful journey over the curves of her taut young body.

“Master,” she whimper.

“I bet you felt white, didn’t you?” He laughed spreading her legs apart. “Well you ain’t nothing, but a stinkin’ nigger and I own you!”

“Why’d you treat me so good?”

Maisy didn’t know where it came from, but as soon as she said it she knew she shouldn’t have.

“Why you uppity piece of trash! Do you think I could ever love something like you? I treat all my animals good.”

She struggled beneath him as he fumbled with his trousers.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

When she continued to struggle he slapped and punched her into submission. She laid there bloodied and bruised as he took her. Searing pain coursed through her body while Tom grunted and sweated on top of her.

“Oh Lard, help me,” she cried.

After one last violent thrust Tom Collier rolled over and fell asleep. She could still feel the weight of him on her and shuttered at the sound of his slow rhythmic breathing.

“Lard, I wish I could disappear.”

Tom's naked white arm lay carelessly across her chocolate exposed stomach. If she moved would he notice? But, she had to take the chance. A sleepy moan escaped his lips as she slowly lifted his arm gently laying it on the ground. Quickly and quietly she fled, leaving behind a sticky trail of blood mingled with semen. Where would she go? If she went to Old George’s plantation he’d find her. So Maisy just kept running in her pretty white cotton dress now soiled with blood, dirt, grass and bodily fluid. She wanted to be clean.


“He cain’t touch yo soul,” she laughed running into the river. The cooling waters soothed her pains, it felt so good. Maisy waded out farther and farther until she disappeared from view.




The Rape of Maisy


When they pulled her body from the river, Maisy was no longer the prettiest gal on ole Master George’s plantation.


© Copyright 2019 D. L. Strickland. All rights reserved.

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